A Kind of Magic
by Lena Ban Obsidian
Summary: Glenn's rite of passage as a boy of Termina. Maybe very slight spoilage. Maybe.


**A kind of magic**  
Lena

Notes: Me-version about Glenn's scar. I've been itching to do this for a very long time. o.o I almost went in for a very vengeful sparring partner, or something a la the Princess Bride with Inigo and the six-fingered man, but this just appealed to me so much more. No real spoilers for the game. I think. 

....and before anyone worries, there will be a sequel of sorts to this fic. Later. 

* * *

In a seaside town named Termina, every child celebrates coming of age on his or her thirteenth birthday. Usually this means nothing very special; parents buy nice gifts, friends celebrate and enjoy party food, and the lucky child of honor gets to stay up past bedtime to be bored to tears by fishermen's tales about the wild wondrous sea. 

Not so in the cabin of the blacksmith. There were no parents for the boys living there, just faithful guardians and a best friend. For the boy who turned thirteen today, there was only an older brother and a small belt knife, to be used in such mundane affairs as cutting dinner meat or sawing at the trunk of a sapling for firewood. There was no party; everyone retired at an early hour, as usual. 

An hour before midnight, Glenn was awakened. 

"...nhwuh?" Mumbled a voice that still sounded boyish and soft. "Karsh? It's gotta be eleven o bloody clock...whaddya want?" 

For his insolence, he received merciless tickling until he sat up, arms up to block, gasping for breath and struggling to stay silent. Dario slept on in the bed on the other side of the room. Still terribly sleepy, and well aware that he would have to be awake in approximately six hours for practice, Glenn glowered in the manner that only preteens being deprived of sleep can. 

Karsh grinned, whispering excitedly. "Ye're thirteen in exactly forty minutes, Glenn. Ye dinnae have time to sleep. C'mon, we'll be late." 

He tossed a pile of clothes at the younger boy and watched Dario for any signs of consciousness while Glenn pulled on the slacks and sweater that had been given him. As he stood to buckle his belt, the older boy grabbed him by the wrist, tugging him out of the cabin. Glenn followed for lack of a better option, free hand clutching at the waist of his pants to keep them in place. 

"Karsh!" 

"Shhh, ye dinnae want tae wake Dario, nu, do ye?" 

As he considered this, Karsh veered around back of the cabin outside and motioned to a pair of well-tailored boots that had been cleverly hidden between two bales of straw, wrapped in a fine oiled cloth. Buckling his belt fastidiously, Glenn tried not to gape in awe. "For me?" 

Nodding, Karsh looked warily about and motioned the other boy to put on the boots. Still a little dumbfounded, Glenn sat down on one of the bales of hay and pulled on the soft leather treasures with the utmost of care, lacing them deftly. He glanced up at Karsh when was done and stifled a yawn. 

"Aye?" 

"What are we doing, Karsh? I have practice in the morning, and somehow boots don't seem like reason enough to drag me out of bed after lights out." A hint of skepticism entered the younger boy's voice, and his eyes went flat, warning that he wouldn't put up with any nonsense as answer. 

The older boy ran a hand through his bangs nervously, watching their surroundings with a wary eye as he spoke. "Ah'm not allowed t'tell ye, Glenn, Ah'm just s'pposed to bring ye. It'll be worth it, all right? Trust me on tha'." 

Dark eyes met light ones in the darkness, and held them until Glenn nodded his acquiescence. "All right. But if I screw up in practice tomorrow, you have to cover for me, okay?" 

A sly little grin crossed Karsh's face, but that was all the answer Glenn got; the other boy grabbed him by the wrist again and suddenly they were running top speed out of Termina and into the wilderness. The world blurred by them, an endless stream of darkened bushes and gray foliage under the dark, moonless sky. A new moon on his thirteenth birthday; someone had said that was a striking coincidence, but he couldn't remember who. New moon. New year. New start. New adventure. 

At least, a boy could hope as much. In his experience, there wasn't too much adventure to be had around Termina. It was a safe town, well protected, peaceful. In short: an adventurous boy's worst enemy. He'd played pirates, army, knights and dragon, and any number of other games with Karsh and Dario in the past. None of the games had ever fully satisfied him, deep in the core of his adventure seeking self. None had ever given that spark of mysticism, of reality, to his life. There were times, when it was night, and he was supposed to be sleeping, that he wondered if his whole life was nothing but a dream. 

But Karsh was running so fast that it was hard to keep up and save his wrist from being snapped off by the pressure, so maybe whatever was going on was for real, this time. Maybe... 

They came to a gasping halt just outside of the Shadow Forest. Well, he was gasping; Karsh had barely broken a sweat. He felt jealous, and not for the first time. The other boy was already training as a dragoon, with Dario. It was something Glenn had always wanted, and had yet to achieve. Maybe it was because he was sure that if he were part of the Acacia Dragoons, then there would be more of that spark in his life that he was missing; either way, the fact that Karsh was already a dragoon made him terribly jealous in an all too childish fashion. 

Smiling, the older boy clapped him on the shoulder, allowing him to catch his breath. "Right, I've brought you. Now Glenn, y'need ta listen closely, afore I let ye go in there." 

He felt the color drain from his face. "What, alone?" 

Was it his imagination, or did that smile seem tight? Karsh's eyes danced with excitement. "Aye. When ye get in, ye'll hear a song. Ye've heard of enchanted melodies, have ye no?" 

"...yes," he replied guardedly. He'd heard of dryads and the like. Did Karsh want him to try and find one of the tree-spirits? 

"Well, this song sounds a bit like tha'; it'll be almost overpowerin'. Follow the voice, lad, and don't fight anything in there, d'ye ken?" There was a seriousness, an anxiety in Karsh's face that forbade him to question the logic of this. He nodded. "Ye've got yer belt knife, aye?" 

With loving care, he pulled it from its sheathe in answer, holding it out handle first to Karsh for inspection. The other boy shook his head, lavender ponytail shivering back and forth over his shoulders with the motion. 

"When ye find the one who's singin' the song, lad, ye'll haftae make a deal. I kinnae tell ye more but good luck, aye?" Swallowing, Karsh looked away, glancing about them as if they'd been followed. "Now get movin', Glenn. Dragon gods be wi'ye." 

He started to say his thanks, and tried to ask a few questions, but Karsh gave him a gentle shove in the direction of the forest and turned around to guard the way they'd come, apparently secure in the knowledge that he would do as he'd been told. Sighing a little, he put the blade back in its sheath and stepped reluctantly towards the forest, slipping inside in the manner of a guilty thief. 

Simply put, there was no way to actually describe the difference of the world outside the forest, and the world within. One moment, there was a slight chill wind and the vague mist that rises from the sea at night; the next, it was warm and wet, and dark and mysterious, and there was music oozing from everything around him. He knew his eyes had gone round at the sight, and willed himself to look casual, as though he saw such things all the time. 

Slowly, with a solemn respect for the place that he'd just been allowed to see, he stepped through the underbrush and into the forest, listening to the play of water over earth and the soft, sweet melody of an ancient place filled with ancient secrets. The voice got louder when he moved towards the water, so he waded through the little pool, hoping his boots were waterproof. Little monsters skittered about him, not coming close enough to fight but peering at him in curiosity as he walked past. Vines hung between the trees, and ferns grew where there were no vines, so that the place was a veritable room of foliage, surrounded by solid green walls. 

He felt uneasy, but it was a wonderful feeling. Anticipation and wonder flooded him, as they never had when playing make-believe. There was something important happening here; there was something _real_. 

The singing led him along a complicated path, further into the woods than he would ever have dared go before. It grew stronger as he drew closer to the source, and clearer. It was beautiful in ways he couldn't describe; female, definitely, and clear; it was deep and round, a warm tone, and velvet as the moss beneath his boots. He could make out distinct consonants and vowels in the song; she was singing in a language not his own, but it was definitely a language. There was purpose to this melody. It meant something. 

And if he kept going, he thought daringly, he might find out exactly _what_. 

His ears led him to a perfect circle formed by trees; clearly, the music was coming from within, but there seemed neither a path in nor a path out. Mildly discouraged, he circled the trees predatorily, searching for a handhold to help him climb over the obstacle, or an opening that had been covered by cleverly placed foliage. Two careful trips revealed nothing in the way of either, and he chewed on his lower lip, trying to think clearly, properly, peering at the trees as if they might reveal their secret to him. 

Cocking his head to the side, he listened to the melody as it turned to a new variation, and wondered if it would be proper to knock on the 'door' and announce himself. It seemed important protocol, as far as he could tell, and wasn't too bad an idea. He stepped forward, back straight, chin up, and knocked three times on the trunk of the tree directly before him. "...May I come in?" he asked, voice low with caution, barely audible over the singing. 

The melody continued uninterrupted, and nothing seemed to happen. A little disheartened, he almost began to sit down to think. Something about the consonants and vowels in the song caught his attention before he completed the action, and he listened intently. 

"_Who calls?_" Asked the singer, working the words into the melody with ease. "_Welcome to the forest, good sir knight. Who calls at the faerie ring?_" 

Swallowing nervously, he answered in a slightly shaky voice. "I am Glenn, son of Garai, Deva of the Acacia Dragoons." There was no immediate response in the singing; the words were from the unfamiliar language again. Hesitantly, he added in a very low whisper, "May I come in?" 

The tree before him did not so much melt as fade away, splitting down the middle and dissolving into a mist that was neither colorless, nor colorful. He stepped forward with great care, and entered a tiny clearing. In the center of the clearing was a stone altar, and on the altar sat the one who had been singing. She was silent now, though the melody continued in the forest beyond them, carried by other voices. 

Behind him, he knew the tree had returned, as solid as before, but he didn't dare to look. He stared, instead, at the figure seated on the edge of the altar, her wings batting daintily at the air, legs kicking lazily, eyes fluttering at him in the most playful of manners. "Hello Glenn, son of Garai, Deva of the Acacia Dragoons. I am Sonja. Come in." 

At the sound of her voice (deep and low and not at all what he had expected), he walked to her without hesitation. He found himself unsure if he was quite in control of his own body as his legs brought him purposefully closer to her, his manner evincing a confidence that he had never felt previously and, frankly, didn't feel right now. They stared at each other for a long moment before he had the sudden urge to kneel before her, and followed it. This seemed to please her; she let loose a gentle laugh and leapt off of the altar, growing larger until she was the size of a human woman. He tried to keep his head down, wanting to show the proper respect, but he couldn't help watching her; she was the embodiment of everything he'd ever dreamed about. She was magic, real live magic. 

She smiled, putting her hands on her hips. "So, Glenn. You must have come here because it is your thirteenth birthday. Am I right?" He was quite breathless, but he managed a very slight nod. Her smile widened. "Then let's make a deal, shall we?" 

Several hundred little tidbits of information ran through his mind. _Nothing comes without a price; Karsh said to make a deal with the singer; what kind of deal; how can I trust you? Or you me? _ He looked back at her helplessly, lips parted to answer, words stuck in his throat. She watched him as he considered all the possible courses of action, her gaze measuring, her eyes guarded. 

In the end, it was her reaction to his indecision that helped him to decide. Whatever the deal entailed, it was a bond of trust and it would bind both of them to each other. That was safe enough, he reasoned, for him to agree to it. 

"Yes," he said softly, entirely serious. "Let's make a deal." 

With delighted giggle, she leapt into the air and returned to her original size. 

Sonja was beautiful. To say she was voluptuous would not do her justice, and to call her handsome would imply that she might have been, in some way, plain enough to seem like any girl he had ever seen before or ever would see again. Sonja was ethereal like the forest itself, and he sensed, in a primal way, that she was as eternal as time. Right now, Sonja was acting like a kid; a fully developed, wise kid. For some reason, that made him feel more at ease. 

"I can give you immortality," she said off-handedly, doing a somersault in the air and beaming. Glenn noted that the smile did not reach to her eyes, and he shook his head. He didn't really think living forever would be that great anyway. Unless you could make sure that all your friends and family would live forever _with_ you. 

Sonja fluttered down to the ground and started pacing, thinking harder. "I can give you fame and glory," she said, a little more carefully, looking at him for his answer, inquisitive. 

Fame and glory. He thought about it, really thought about it, for the first time. Fame didn't really matter, so he dismissed it without further consideration. Who really gave a rat's backside whether people knew his name a hundred years from now? But glory, and he thought this with the certainty of a boy who has never seen combat, glory is important. You have to be magnificent at something (usually fighting, he noted) to defeat dragons and rescue princesses; but glory was kind of an after effect of that, now that he thought about it. 

He shook his head no. He hoped Sonja wouldn't be angry, because he knew that he'd just rejected two very generous offers, but it was the adventuring and the danger that he was interested in, and both of her gifts would have robbed him of final satisfaction in his work. Knowing that he couldn't have lost a battle would make winning it as boring as playing hero in a game with no villains. 

Sonja didn't seem angry. She launched herself off of the ground and flew over to him, where he was still kneeling by the altar; she brought her face so close that her tiny nose was brushing against his own. "Then I offer you my partnership in battle, in the future when you journey across El Nido. Do you accept this bargain?" 

He blinked, looking at her almost hopeful expression; even if he'd wanted to say no, he didn't think he would have been able to. 

"I accept your bargain," he answered gravely, fully prepared to hear what consequences her assistance might entail. In one story, the hero had been forced to go on twelve long tedious quests just to get some meaningless baubles to pay for the magical assistance. 

Sonja back winged and returned to her human-size form, and held out her hand. "Then let us seal it in blood; for I shall assist you in battle, and you shall never harm my forest. Is it a good deal?" Although uncertain about the blood part, he felt that the deal was very sound, and nodded hurriedly. 

"Sonja..." 

She offered a reassuring smile. "Do not worry, Glenn, son of Garai. It will only be a little blood. Hand me your knife, and I will seal our bargain." Meekly, he obeyed, having no other real options. He vowed to give Karsh a piece of his mind about mystical women who talked about blood and power when he got back. 

It was a simple ceremony; Sonja lifted the knife to her face and made two quick slashes with the blade, marking her left cheek with a cross. Before he could think to protest, or mention that he was starting to feel uncertain about this whole deal-making business, she had knelt and made a matching mark on his cheek. 

There was little pain. Blood crept slowly from the wounds on their faces, and Sonja handed him the knife, which remained miraculously clean; he sheathed it and kept his head bowed, afraid to look at her. 

One gentle hand tipped his chin up until their eyes met, and she leaned close. "I will protect you, as you protect me." Her lips pressed against the fresh wound, and she pulled back slightly, bowing her own head, waiting. A little stunned, he lifted a hand to touch the place where she had kissed him and realized, suddenly, that she didn't _have_ to help him or make a deal with him, and likewise he didn't _have_ to agree to protect her. 

And for that reason, he intoned his own solemn oath and pressed his lips to the cuts on her cheek. "I will protect you as you protect me." 

There was a sudden warmth, and a feeling of _good_, as if he'd never before experienced it fully... 

Then he was struggling awake, and it was just before five in the morning. Karsh looked haggard, and he had no doubt that he was the same; he scowled at the older boy. "Practice isn't till a half hour from now," he complained pitifully, trying to roll over. 

Karsh grabbed his shoulder. "Aye, but we've got to pretend that ah'm the one wha gave ye those marks, or there'll be questions to answer. C'mon." Karsh left him before he could answer, and he stared after the other boy, eyes wide, momentarily hoping...but no. Karsh couldn't be serious; the whole trip to the forest must have been a dream, because he didn't remember coming back, and besides, there was nothing on his face-- 

His fingers paused in their examination of his cheek, at two criss-crossing cuts that were still bleeding. 

His heart leapt for joy as he stumbled out of bed, already dressed in the outfit from the night's excursion and the boots he'd been given by Karsh as his birthday present. The sun wouldn't rise for another hour, and he was about to go through the workout of his life with Karsh to cover the true origin of the marks on his face; but it was worth it. 

For a little bit of magic in his life, it was worth it. 

~End~


End file.
